


Forget-Me-Not

by OfficialMettaton



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Amaurotine Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Emotional Hurt, M/M, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), One Shot Collection, incredibly fast burn cuz i'm an impatient bastard, more tags to be added as more chapters are posted, rating may change [wiggles eyebrows]
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2020-09-23 01:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20331493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfficialMettaton/pseuds/OfficialMettaton
Summary: A whispered question."Will you allow me to wander this star with you until the end of time?"A whispered response."Gladly."





	1. Parasite

The sight before Emet-Selch is one he is genuinely surprised to see - Eulmoreans far away from their Paradise, traipsing about in the dirt at the foot of Lakeland's Ladder, tediously working to the best of their abilities, together with those from the slums who lived in their shadow, all to get the long abandoned mechanism running again.

All of it thanks to that wretched Husk that was called Mattonious.

Looking over, Emet-Selch can see the Husk standing off to the side, away from everyone else, hands on his slender hips, a fond smile on his face, his shocking pink eyes scanning around as he tucked the stray strands of black and orchid hair loosened by the wind behind his horns. He was obviously very proud of his achievement of, once again, being able to bring folks from such disparate lives together to work towards a common goal.

It made Emet-Selch want to gag and laugh simultaneously.

The former, due to just how sickeningly optimistic the naïve Husk still was, despite knowing that one wrong move would bring the end to all of the hard work done so far (which, inevitably, was going to happen anyways, as Emet-Selch knew).

The latter, however, was due to that funny yet irritating little sensation he's felt several times now since joining the Husk and his merry little band on this pointless crusade of theirs.

Déjà vu.

He'd seen this exact scene before, only it was with his most trusted, most loving friend, Fandaniel - Eros, as he was more intimately known as.

Not this shadow of him…

_ …The two of them were tasked with negotiating with two separate cities in order to gain access to their heavily protected archive the cities shared between them in order to retrieve lost information regarding ancient somatic techniques Amaurotines used to help channel aether better when casting spells. Trouble was, the cities were engaged in a centuries long rivalry over something so idiotic and childish that Emet-Selch couldn't even be assed to remember, and without the cooperation of both cities, the archives could not be accessed._

_ While Emet-Selch was more than prepared to simply fight his way into the archives himself, Fandaniel, on the other hand, did what he did best - he schmoozed. Fan was able to get both leaders of each city to meet together, with him and Emet-Selch as the mediators (much to Emet-Selch's great reluctance). Despite it starting off quite tumultuous, in the end, the leaders were able to set aside differences just long enough to help the two foreigners out on their quest._

_ As the two leaders work over paperwork to document their long awaited treaty, the Amaurotine representatives stand off to the side, watching history unfold. Emet-Selch glances over, and sees Fandaniel standing there, arms crossed over his chest, smiling that warm smile of his, his cheeks punctuated by freckles that he adored so much, his citrine eyes glowing with pride beneath the sweeping bangs of his sunshine-kissed mane of hair._

_ Gods, how unbelievably in love with him he is…_

…**was**…

…

Emet-Selch has to mentally strike himself. The man standing before him right here, right now, was not his Fandaniel - his Eros. He was a cheap imitation of his beloved, a very weak reflection of someone whom once meant the whole of the universe to him. This Husk would never be able to hold even a match to one of the greatest figures to have ever lived.

…And yet…

…He can't help but hope - no…pray that, deep, deep down, locked away somewhere in that Husk, was a part of Eros, a part that he could reach out to, and try to bring him forth from that disgusting murky darkness in which he was imprisoned. Then, maybe then, he'd spare this Husk. That is the point of this whole affair of tagging along with the Scions in the first place. He desperately, desperately needed to prove himself wrong, to see for himself that this Husk was really, truly worthy of being Eros' equal.

He need only reach out, and wait for something to reach back.

"Would you look at that?" The Husk - Mattonious - turns to face him as Emet-Selch finally makes his appearance known, sauntering up the small set of stone steps leading up to the Ladder, stopping just as he reaches the top step. "The citizens of Eulmore engaging as what can only be described as 'manual labor'. Who would have thought it possible?"

The Au Ra lets out a snort. "Right?" he responds from across the ways with a smirk. "I'm surprised they haven't fussed about getting dirt under their precious manicured nails just yet." He says this loud enough that a few Eulmoreans look his way and let out a huff of disagreement.

_Eros would've shrugged and said something along the lines of, "Well, I for one am quite proud of them! Look at them, Hades! They're doing amazing work!"_

"…Do you know the most reliable way to deal with those who stubbornly refuse to see reason?" Emet-Selch continues as he begins to walk again, advancing closer to the proclaimed Warrior of Darkness.

Mattonious shrugs his broad shoulders, cocks his head to the side, and purses his lips. "Mmmm, d'know…Does it maybe involve getting one of your goons to possess one of your enemy's most trusted friends?"

The Ascian can't help but smile at the reply. Cute.

_Being witty and sarcastic was his thing, not Eros'._

"You conquer them - crush them under heel. Such was the trusted method of Allag, and one still favored by Garlemald."

_"Hades, while I appreciate your fervor towards getting things done promptly and effectively, violence is not **always** the answer."_

"Ah. Right. Yes, I'm quite familiar with that approach, and don't mind returning it in kind," the Husk coldly replies instead.

Emet-Selch completely ignores the threat. Obviously, he isn't getting anywhere with idle chatter. Perhaps if he tried a different approach…

He then remembers something Eros once told him. Something he'd never forget, because it was _so Eros_ of him to say.

Maybe, just maybe, if he repeated it, he can cause at least a ripple to disturb the depths of this Husk's soul in which his beloved was hidden.

He makes eye contact with Mattonious. "But conquest is the easy part. The true challenge begins once the dust has settled - quenching the glowing ambers of animosity and maintaining a semblance of peace. This requires the conqueror to treat the conquered with dignity, and the conquered to let bygones be bygones. A difficult feat to achieve."

It's small - so small, Emet-Selch very nearly misses it, but he doesn't. He catches it, and tries to shake himself from thinking it's merely a trick of the light.

For the briefest of moments, in the span of perhaps less than half a second, there's a minute shift in the Husk's aether color. Within the deep void pulse of dark violet, among the hints of pink, he sees it, just above the heart, and it very nearly brings him to his knees then and there.

The brilliant, vibrant swirl of gold and orange with flecks of red, almost as bright as the sun itself.

_"So you **do** listen to me from time to time…"_

And then it's gone.

He must keep trying. He needs to see it again. He needs to know for sure.

The ancient, unsundered Amaurotian struggles to maintain his poker face as he continues on. "…But you have achieved just that…to my considerable surprise."

This time, there's no quick witted remark from the Husk. Instead, he looks at Emet-Selch, eyebrows quirked in a way to convey confusion.

"…It's a compliment," huffs the Ascian. "Take it."

"I…Thanks?" Mattonious mutters. "…I guess?"

Just as Emet-Selch is about to reprimand the idiot for being so ungrateful, the two hear Lord Chai call out for Y'shtola and Urianger, informing that the twin Talos he's prepared to help run the lift are ready to be infused with their "magic shenanigans". The two Scions nod, and move themselves to begin filling the ancient constructs with aether, with Lady Chai throwing her arms into the air, hopping up and down with pure excitement and joy over the success of her darling husband's hard work.

The collective aether of the group makes for an impressive rainbow of colors.

"Ahh, the vibrant energy that fills the air when like-minded souls gather…"

As he watches, Emet-Selch feels that damned, irritating melancholy sensation wash over him again…

_ …Eros stands before the wall of texts, excitedly rocking back and forth on his feet while clapping his hands together._

_ "Hades, would you look at all of this!" he cries out. "The clever ingenuity of our ancestors hidden away for so long, now here right before us!" He grabs a book off the shelf, gently blowing the dust that's collected on it, and opens it to a random page. "Oh, what an accomplishment! I can't believe we pulled this off!"_

_ Hades can see Eros' aether manically beat to the rhythm of his heart. He meanders over towards him, towering behind him, soaking himself in his radiant aether for just a moment before lowering his head on his smaller partner's shoulders. He watches Eros flip through pages, each showcasing a multitude of different pictures of figures using only their hands and specific gestures to conjure and produce creation magics that were considered too difficult to master without the use of magitek._

_ The page flipping comes to an immediate halt when one of Hades' hands ghosts over the hand Eros is using to hold the book. Hades' other hand, meanwhile, begins to devilishly snake its way under his lover's dress shirt, rubbing slow, calculated circles on his bare stomach - just the way he loved it. He lets his own crimson red and midnight black aether begin to mingle with Eros' gold, and he feels his sunflower shiver beneath him._

_ "**You** pulled this off, Eros," Hades purrs into an ear. "Without your brilliantly talented tongue, we wouldn't be standing here. We'd still have two morons bickering about gods knows what until the end of time."_

_ Eros snickers, then hums as he lifts his head slightly. "Yes, true, but **you** were the one who spent literally days researching where to even find this place, Hades. I'd have been hopelessly wandering this star alone until the end of time."_

_ A whispered question._

_ "Will you allow me to wander this star with you until the end of time?"_

_ A whispered response._

_ "Gladly."_

_ A whispered kiss._

Emet-Selch is jolted out of his reverie at the sound of Lady Chai's sudden cheering when the Talos show signs of autonomy. Perhaps it was for the better, as he doesn’t think his heart could handle any more emotional strain.

"…To think back on that time before time fair brings a tear to the eye," he sighs wistfully.

A snort come from the Husk, and immediately the moment is ruined.

"You can actually produce tears?" Mattonious sarcastically asks.

Emet-Selch feigns feeling genuinely hurt by the Husk. "What? You thought ancient beings like us incapable of crying?"

"I thought ancient beings like you incapable of emotions at _all_."

At this, the Ascian bristles at the accusatory comment. "Well, rest assured that if your heart can be broken, than so can mine!" he snaps.

Mattonious looks genuinely taken aback. Emet-Selch sees his aether sadly shrink in on itself, no longer loudly showing off. Surely he struck a deeply personal chord, but he didn't give a shit about hurting this parasite's feelings.

He heaves a sigh. "…Back when the world was whole, we had family, friends, loves…" He hates how he instinctively turns his head to look directly into the eyes of the Husk, and hates himself even more when he hopes to see Eros standing there instead.

The Ascian closes his eyes, then opens them again when he turns his head up towards Light contaminated sky. "Men knew peace and contentment, and with our adamant souls, we could live for an age. There was no conflict born of want or disparity. Our differences paled into insignificance next to all we had in common." When he hears uncharacteristic silence from the Husk, Emet-Selch takes it as a sign to continue speaking fondly of what once was. "…And then there was _Amaurot_…Never was a city more magnificent! From the humblest streets to the highest spires, she fairly gleamed…"

Still hearing nothing but silence, Emet-Selch turns to look at the Husk to see if he's even paying attention.

He nearly wails.

There, right around Mattonious' heart, larger and much more obvious than before, a beautiful flower of gold, orange, and red aether is blooming from the violet and pink.

This definitely wasn't his tired, exhausted mind playing tricks on him. He could even faintly smell the mixture of sculpture clay, paint, and leaves after a morning rain that always clung to Eros, but only if the Lakeland breeze blew just right.

He's there. Eros is _right there_, and Emet-Selch could so very easily reach out and cusp his hands around the aether flower, rip it away from the parasite, clutch it close to his own heart, will it to merge with his own aether, keep it safe until he could find the rest of his beloved's brilliant shattered soul, trimming each flower from each weed that dared suffocate it--

"Oh, I'm sure this city of Am-Turd-Rock or whatever was _so_ amazing and stellar."

That sudden grating, horrible voice of the Husk finally breaking the silence makes Emet-Selch blink.

The flower is gone.

And all of the aether coursing through the Ascian begins to **burn**.

He hates him. He hates _it_. He hates this _**thing** _so **fucking** _**much**_.

How **dare** this parasite parade itself around as some fucking hero of heroes, a savior of saviors, while selfishly hoarding a piece of a being far, far greater than him, beyond what this thing's feeble, stupid mind could _**ever** _dream to be. He could kill him right where he stood. It'd be **so** easy.

…But killing the parasite would also mean killing the host. That would mean permanently losing a piece of Eros, which would mean he'd forever lose the chance of bringing his beloved back entirely whole.

Emet-Selch unclenches the tight fists he'd unconsciously made.

He takes a deep breath. A heavy, tired exhale.

After a moment of collecting himself, the Ascian slowly turns to glare at the Husk. "…Not that you would remember any of this…" he snarls.

The parasite simply rolls its eyes and asks in the most bored tone, "Is this going anywhere?"

Gods, it was like talking to a sentient pile of shit.

"…Never mind…"

If only he could just rip Eros' aether out of the Husk…

It suddenly dawns on him. Perhaps, that idea could just work. With the extraordinary amount of Light literally bursting at the Husk's seams, there was no doubt its undoing would be at hand as soon as it slayed Lord Vauthrey. When that time came, he'd make absolutely sure to be there, and to kill anyone who foolishly dared to get in his way. Before the Light could completely take over, right as the Husk is at its absolute weakest, he could easily pluck Eros' precious aether out, and leave the Husk to die. The Rejoining could then continue on as scheduled, and he'd be one step closer to bringing Eros back.

Until then, he needed the parasite alive. Of course, the only way to keep the thing alive was to continue to sew the false promise of friendship with him, and the pretense that there is hope for victory at the end.

He returns to where he'd left off with his play acting. "The point is: the world of old was a far better place than what we have now. I believe you would like it, having witnessed the things you have." Now to play up on the idiot's disgusting selfishness and massive ego. "Remember, you are of the Source. Unlike the halfmen here, you stand only to gain."

Now the Husk was looking at Emet-Selch with great interest. "…Is that so?"

He wished it wasn't this easy and predictable.

The Ascian attempts a warm smile. "Should you survive the remaining calamities, you will become our _equal_. A _complete_ existence in a _complete_ world…"

The putrid aether of the Husk pulses with excitement.

He had him, hook, line, and stinker.

Emet-Selch turns on his heel and begins to saunter away, waving a gloved hand in the air. "…But such talk is a pleasure for later. Back to work, hero!"

He hears the parasite chuckle behind him. "It's always a pleasure to speak with you, _Emet_."

The Ascian stops dead in his tracks.

The way the Husk spoke just now…

The cadence, the tone, the pitch, even the way he said Emet…

…

It was all wrong.

Emet-Selch could not wait to watch this insect suffer and die.


	2. Symphony

It is incredibly rare for Convocation members to address other members by anything other than their title. In fact, it is essentially seen as taboo. When he'd asked Elidibus for an explanation as to why this was upon first joining the Convocation, Fandaniel was disappointed that the wisest member gave him a most lackluster response.

"We mustn't tamper with tradition."

As much as he'd wanted to argue the fact that the world most definitely wouldn't end if they'd forgo the tradition (and a rather silly one at that), Fandaniel understood that he needed to play nice if he wanted respect from his elders.

That didn't stop him from continuously bothering his closest friend in the Convocation about it.

"I just think it's rather asinine, don't you, Emet?"

A groan comes from the white haired Amaurotine lazily slouched across one of the library's comfortable armchairs (of _course_ they were comfortable - he designed them after all).

"Fan, it's a bit too late in the evening to entertain such a wildly unimportant question," he groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose under his red mask. The other Amaurotine sitting across from him is melancholily drawing a bow this way and that across the strings of an ornate cello he'd conjured up in an effort to use the deep bass to help ease the stress and anxiety the two were feeling in regards to completing their most recent assignment on time.

"I'm afraid you've forgotten that I _am_ the one who holds the title of the one responsible specifically for Entertainment creation magics," the cellist chuckles.

Emet-Selch smarmily responds, "Oh, do forgive me - I must've forgotten after your six trillionth reminder." That earns him another precious laugh from his colleague. Grumbling, he sits himself upright, stretches, then resumes slumping over an arm rest, resting his chin upon the palm of his hand. "Not sure what else you expect of me to say on the matter other than what you've been told before."

Fandaniel halts his playing, and folds his arms over the large instrument, leaning into it. "Yes, I understand what the Convocation as a whole believes that our titles serve as our names, and that whatever names we were given beforehand are meaningless. Thing is, though, is that I'm not asking what _they_ believe." He uses his bow to point directly towards Emet-Selch. "I am asking what _you_ believe."

What the Architect believes is that he does, in some sense, agree with Fandaniel - that traditions are meant to be torn down and rebuilt, just as any other aged structure unsuitable for use. However, he also believes in the age old saying, "If it isn't broke, don't expend unnecessary energy on trying to fix it". There really is no harm in not sharing a deeply private thing about himself, especially with some irritating pompous arsehole like Fandaniel. They were work partners. Nothing more.

…Well…partners who spent nearly every waking moment together, even outside of Convocation matters, expressing thoughts and ideas and emotions in private that they'd dare not share with anyone else…

"…What I believe," Emet-Selch finally says, leaning forward, "is that you and I must return to our work if either of us wish to get decent sleep tonight."

The golden haired Amaurotine gives him one of his devilish smirks. "Shall we be taking repose at your place or mine?"

His answer is a crumpled ball of paper tossed into his face.

"_Work_."

"But I _have_ been working!"

"On what?"

"On relieving you of your tension, you crotchety old bastard."

"I am _not_ old, and I am _not_ crotchety."

"But you _are_ a bastard."

"I'm _your_ bastard."

…Oh…he…didn't mean for that to be said out loud…Nor did he mean for it to be said with such…urgh…affection…

Seeing the shocked expression on Fandaniel's face, Emet-Selch uncharacteristically stumbles to find something else to say.

"…I…er…I'm…going to look for more…books…"

His partner glances over towards the mountains of books already precariously stacked all over the writing desk between them.

"…You sure we don't already have plenty?"

The Architect finds himself staring, not at the desk, but at the Muse.

_His_ Muse.

That accursed warm smile on his face. The way his gorgeous mane of strawberry blonde hair is barely contained in a loose ponytail. How he longs to drown in his aether that feels like the perfect never-ending summer day.

He attempts to find words again, but finds it impossible to speak, let alone think while in the company of this man who was the one and only reason he hadn't followed through with his plan of early retirement from the Convocation.

So instead, he walks away.

…At least, he attempts to.

Just as he turns on his heels, he's stopped by the gentle touch of a hand grabbing his. Despite knowing that he's the strongest between them, and despite knowing how easily he could yank himself out of the grasp, he doesn't dare take another step. Instead, he turns and feigns a rather pathetic expression of irritation.

Fandaniel knows better.

"I want you to help me test a hypothesis, Emet," he says.

The Architect rolls his eyes. "Which would be?"

He finds himself being ushered back to his seat. Once Fandaniel coerces him to sit back down, he returns to his own chair. Instead of sitting down, however, he grabs his cello and his bow, and returns to where Emet-Selch sits, standing before him in an unintentionally imposing manner.

His smile widens as he replies, "I want to see if I can teach an old dog new tricks. Now, spread your legs open for me."

By the almighty power of the Underworld, Emet-Selch felt his entire body begin to _burn_. His blush must've been far more obvious than he'd thought (or wished) it was, because Fandaniel snorts.

"I'm afraid I have something more tame in mind for our experiment, darling," he says in an impish tone. Carefully, he situates the cello between Emet-Selch's legs, moving them to hug the instrument so as to prevent it from spinning on its endpin. Then, he places the bow into the hand the Architect hadn't even realized he was still holding on to. The absurdity of his position is enough to take his mind off of…other things.

"You expect me to play this damned monster?" Emet-Selch scoffs. "I'm surprised you can even wield it, what with it being tenfold your size."

"Oh, no-no-no," chuckles Fandaniel. "I don't intend for you to play it by yourself."

"Then how do you--"

Before he's able to finish, he feels Fandaniel's hands completely overlap his own. One set of hands move to adjust themselves to hold the bow in a more proper manner, while the other set is placed upon the neck of the cello.

"We shall do this in the same manner we've always done things, my friend," the Muse says as he sits himself behind the Architect. "_Together_."

And together, they play.

Once again, the library is filled with a deep dulcet melody, and Emet-Selch can _see it_. It was normal for the aether that Fandaniel produced via his created instruments to be visible to him, but it had only ever been just slivers and flecks in a faded yellow tint. Now, before his eyes, he sees the aether spill forth like a waterfall with every connection the bow makes with the strings, with every note and chord struck. The colors shift between vibrant hues of gold and orange to deep shades of black and red, and watches as they become fine enough to weave and dance between the pages of the books that lined the shelves around them.

Recognizing the familiar colors, it dawns on him that it is not new aether being produced - it is their own aether being channeled, amplified through song. There is not a single word strong enough in existence to reflect exactly how he feels in this very moment.

"Eros."

The Architect is startled out of his reverie at the sound of Fandaniel's gentle voice. He turns his head so as to look his friend in the eyes, but not once do they stop.

"My name," the Muse speaks again. "My _real_ name. It's Eros. It is a name I created for myself. It means 'unending adoration'. That is what I feel for you. That is why I am giving you, and _only you_, my name."

The bow jitters for just a moment. Neither knows if it was by their hand, or the other's.

"…Hades," the Architect finds himself responding in kind. "'Shepherd of the dead'. I'm afraid my name meaning is grim compared to yours."

The hands around his tighten their grip. Still they play.

The Muse shakes his head and smiles. "I've seen the way you gaze upon the Underworld in reverence and respect. I've heard you speak to the souls that drift In the river. No one could suit such a name better than you."

The Architect smiles in return. "Your flattery will get you everywhere."

"Oh, I very much hope it does."

"A pleasure, Eros."

"The pleasure is entirely mine, Hades."

They kiss.

Their hearts sing in harmony.

They continue to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is the reason why i tagged this as 'extremely fast burn' omegalul
> 
> fun fact: this was supposed to be submitted for the FFXIVWriting2019 challenge for prompt "Jitter" but i was late by like 30 minutes WHOOPS


	3. Mercy

"NOW! STRIKE WITH ALL THINE MIGHT!"

Mattonious hears Urianger scream the command. The pure light manifestation of Ardbert's axe is in his hand, struggling to burn brighter than the overwhelming darkness all around. Hades' true form is towering imposingly above them all, angrily thrashing in pain, weakened from the white aurecite.

It's the opportune moment. Once again, Hydalyn's hero must strike down the evil Ascian that threatens billions of lives. He'd done it before. He swore to himself he'd do it again, and again, and again, killing any and all Ascians that threatened the lives of him and his friends. He had to put an end to it all then and there.

So…Why is his hand shaking?

Truly, Hades…Emet-Selch had lost any last shred of sympathy Mattonious foolishly held for him the second he'd said that killing him and the Scions wouldn't technically count as murder, as he didn't even consider them alive in the first place. He was no longer a man worth trying to save. He took advantage of him. Told him such pretty, beautiful lies. Fooled him into thinking that, maybe, there really was something between them. That things could work out.

Hades was a monster. Mattonious was very good at slaying monsters. He couldn't wait to be the one to personally put an end to the wretched bastard.

Yet there the Au Ra stood, poised to strike, but struggling to make the killing blow. He could tell Hades had sensed his hesitation, and was preparing to take advantage of it. If Mattonious didn't move now, it'd be the end. They'd lose.

Why…fucking _why _is he _hesitating_?

_'I'm so, so sorry.'_

…A voice? From…where? The Echo? The Void?…No…no, this was different. It…It was coming from…from…within him? It isn't anything like Ardbert's gruff voice he'd grown so accustomed to. It's much softer, gentler.

Suddenly, there, standing between him and the monstrous creature, is a figure, ghostly in form. Totally featureless, just barely forming a body, but there's color to it - faded hues of gold, red, and orange lazily swirling together. Stranger even is the thick string-like mist that, as he follows it, seems to be connecting the figure to him, the warm colored haze mixing and shifting into a violet and pink haze on the Au Ra's side.

It speaks again, and despite not being able to distinguish a face, Mattonious can tell that the figure is weeping.

_'It was a lifetime ago. We made a promise to one another, didn't we? Well, here I am. I'm so sorry it took so long, but I'm here, my dear. I'm here.'_

There's a brief second where Mattonious notices Hades' thrashing cease, then the next moment he's nearly deafened by the wail that comes from all around him. He falters, but before he can topple over, a pair of hands hold him steady. The hero looks over, and sees the mist standing beside him. The hands move from his chest, and clasp over the trembling fist holding Ardbert's axe.

The wailing of a hundred thousand voices grows, and the darkness is quickly thickening. Mattonious' fist tightened, feeling his own nails dig deep into his skin.

_'He's suffered for far too long. It will be a mercy.'_

Mattonious shuts his eyes.

And strikes.

There is silence.

When he feels the weight of the darkness lift, that’s when he finally opens his eyes.

Hades stands before him, cloaked in the familiar traditional Ascian robe.

A gaping hole burned through his torso.

Slowly, Hades lowers his hood. His expression certainly shows defeat, but there's another emotion that seems much more prevalent.

Sorrow.

As if drawn to him, the haze from earlier drifts over towards the Ascian, and, very gently, wraps itself around Hades' shoulders.

_'It's time to come home, my moonlight.'_

The Ascian's eyes turn towards Mattonious.

"…Remember," he pleads. "…Remember _us_…Remember that we once _lived_…"

"…I swear it," Mattonious promises sincerely with a nod. "…After all…You're fucking impossible to keep off the mind, you cheeky bastard…"

A smile forms on Hades.

The smile stays, even as his aether dissolves.

It's over.

Another victory against the Ascians.

Mattonious wearily collapses to his knees, and looks upwards, watching the last of Hades' aether drift away to be reclaimed by the Lifestream.

He won.

It's a time to be celebrating, to be cheering.

Tears fall instead.

Tears from both himself, and from another ancient soul who’d been wanting to shed them for thousands of years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [roblox damage voice] oof :^)


	4. Blasphemy

Zodiark was getting out of control, just as Fandaniel fearfully suspected it would. The god was created out of pure anxiety, helplessness, desperation. It has enough sentience to realize that the moment those negative feelings dissipate amongst the star's populace, there'd be no more need to look upon it as a savior. It would be left to decay, to rot, to die. Just like any other creature of creation, it would do anything to ensure continued survival.

Thus began the Tempering.

Those who did not wish to pay respect towards Zodiark had their wills forcefully bent, their aether manipulated in order to accept the god into not only their hearts, but their very essence. They'd become "tempered" as Fan called it - molded and shaped to be used as a tool of the god. Those tempered behaved completely unlike themselves. Whatever they did, it was all in the name of Zodiark. Those of stronger will, however, were able to defy the tempering.

Spouses, siblings, friends began to wage conflict against one another - one side fighting for the right to retain their individuality, the other fighting for their righteous and almighty savior.

Fandaniel just wanted this all to stop. He needed to put a leash on Zodiark. He needed to beseech the Convocation.

Problem was, he was terrified of what the Convocation had become.

The group had been halved after members willfully volunteered to give up their lives in the name of sacrifice to summon Zodiark. Elidibus, once the most sensible of the group, had become a fear mongering prophet. He began to make sweeping declarations of visions shown to him of more calamities that were to come to the star, unless every last person dedicated themselves entirely to Zodiark, to lend their god the power needed to continue to protect them and their beloved home. He even began to entertain the thought of providing more sacrifices, halving the still struggling population yet again.

Fandaniel could only play along for so long before the truth of his loyalty would be laid bare, and he was running out of time. He needed to act quickly, but he also needed to ensure he remained under the radar. Lives were on the line. He could not allow for mistakes.

But, sooner or later, a mistake was bound to happen.

After months of secretly dedicating time studying how one could create a god without sacrificing a multitudes of lives, Fan believed he finally had the answer. Just as he witnessed with Zodiark's creation, a god could be summoned by raw, unfiltered emotions. This time around, though, he'd summon a god based purely on love, hope, determination, and he'd be able to do so with only two people.

So he finally approached Emet-Selch with his proposition.

He expected hesitance, doubt, maybe even snark about how outlandish of an idea it was.

He was foolishly hoping, against all hope, that Emet had been left untouched by the tempering, and they'd be able to continue to live their fairytale story together, until the end, just as they'd promised.

Unfortunately, as he'd come to discover far too late, their ending had been rewritten to that of a tragedy.

"You mean all this time you were lying to our god? To the Convocation? To _me_?"

"Hades, please, be reasonable--"

"Did you really think I'd agree to such a blasphemous idea?"

"All Zodiark wants is more power."

  
  
"Then let him have all the power he wants."

"But more people will die!"

"If it means keeping us alive, so be it."

"This isn't you--"

"Yes it _is_, Eros! This has _always_ been me! Before Zodiark, before the Doom, since the day we met, I've never once cared for the life of anyone else, save for yours being the one precious exception. I'd happily sacrifice every last life on this star, and every other star, if it meant keeping you alive. I've already done so much for you - I summoned a _god_ for you! Now you're telling me that what I did was _wrong_?"

The silence that followed was unbearable.

The only thing Fan could do was do what he'd always done to calm Emet down. Slowly, he closed the distance between them, and gently laid his palm against his beloved's cheek.

"You had good intentions," he whispered, barely above a breath. "Believe me, I know you did, my love, but--"

Emet-Selch violently removes the hand off his cheek.

"But _what_, Eros? It's not good enough for you? You seek _more_ from me?"

"Hades--"

"You _always_ want more. Nothing's _ever_ enough to satiate you, is it?"

"Hades, my hand--"

"It's _your_ fault! It's all your damned fault! The calamity would've _never_ happened in the first place if you'd been more careful! _None_ of this would have fucking happened if you hadn't--"

The sound of bones cracking and Fandaniel's pained scream echoing all throughout the hall was enough to snap Emet-Selch to his senses. The realization of what just happened dawns on him, and anger is quickly replaced by horror.

He had hurt him.

He had hurt his beloved sunflower.

He saw Eros looking right at him, tears streaking his cheeks as he cradled his broken wrist. He was silent, his expression unreadable, but Hades could tell exactly what he wanted to say.

_'It's not your fault.'_

He watched helplessly as Eros summoned enough aether to teleport. Hades hoped - prayed that his love was somewhere far, far away.

Far enough that he'd not be able to hurt him ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wanted to take a break from writing Pray for the Wicked chapters before I burned myself out on it, so i got the itch to write more Fan+Emet :^)
> 
> you can find me @MattoniousGames on Twitter, @ThotOfDarkness on Tumblr, OR on the FFXIV Fanfic Discord server I'm in, which you can join by following this link! --> https://discord.gg/QGu2Td9

**Author's Note:**

> haha whoops this just turned from a single one shot into multiple one shots cuz im mega gay and also too lazy to make an entirely new post LUL
> 
> **please be aware that the first chapter was posted well before we got more info in regards to Emet-Selch via the short story, "Through His Eyes", and before i did some more studying in regards to Amaurotian lore, so any chapter afterwards is gonna handle his character (as well as Eros) a bit differently!
> 
> if you're interested in learning more about Mattonious and/or Eros, please feel free to shoot me character questions over at my tumblr, @ThotOfDarkness!


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